


Time to Think

by NotALemon



Category: The Catcher in the Rye - J. D. Salinger
Genre: But whatever, Cigarettes, Depression, Gen, New York City, Pretty Much Pointless, Smoking, deep thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could've lead up to Holden's stay in the mental asylum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to Think

New York wasn’t great in the best of times. Especially when it was dark and damp and miserable. The weather no one wanted to go out into. 

There were few people on the streets that night, dressed in long coats, umbrellas, and a sort of miserable silence that only unexpected rain can bring. They all rushed to their destinations, leaving nothing behind. There was only one who wasn’t rushing.

He was deep in thought, with walking as an afterthought. His feet were dragging with every step. His hands were in his pockets- one was clenched around a cigarette pack and the other was idly flipping through loose coins. He looked like any other slouchy young man except for his hat. It was a backwards bright red hunting cap that stuck out like a lit cigarette in the darkness.

His name was Holden Caulfield, and he wasn’t sure exactly where he was supposed to go. He had no destination in mind and no need to get out of the rain. As far as he was concerned, the rain was just in his head. Just like everything else.

He paused in the dryness in front of a bar and pondered going in. Getting drunk could help ease the mind, after all. He didn’t go in, instead pulling out the pack of cigarettes and lighting one. It took a couple times for his shaking hands to successfully light one.

After taking his first drag, his shoulders started to relax. He closed his eyes as he breathed in. He could smell New York. It smelled of wet dog and smoke. Like exhaust and wet sidewalks. It smelled normal to him. Almost like home.

His eyes opened and he blew some smoke rings into the air. He tilted his head back to watch the rings float and disappear out into the air.

When he finished his cigarette, he dropped it onto the sidewalk and ground it with his heel. He only felt a little better as he walked back into the drizzle. It wasn’t even a proper rain. Just disappointment in precipitation form.

He turned on his heel and headed into the bar. He fell onto a chair like a house of cards and ordered a drink.

The server told him he was too young. He sighed and just ordered a soda. 

He slouched over the table while he drank it. His eyes were closed most of the time. Thinking. Wondering. Pondering. 

D.B. didn’t _mean_ he was crazy, right? There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He just wasn’t a goddam phony. That’s all.

He finished his drink and paid. 

He left the bar. 

He wanted to leave the city. 

He wanted to stop living.

He needed another cigarette.

And some time to think.

**Author's Note:**

> Please end this work. Kill it with fire.


End file.
